


Babes in Toyland

by rsconne



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Clexa, Clexa Holiday Special 2017, Department Store Elves, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, No Real Angst, Smut, mall santas, silly costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsconne/pseuds/rsconne
Summary: Clexa Holiday Special Prompt:Clarke gets a job as an elf at Santa’s workshop in the mall, and meets Lexa, another elf there.Bonus points if for some Godforsaken reason, Raven has to fill in as Santa.





	Babes in Toyland

**Author's Note:**

> A couple days late, but here's hoping folks are still in the holiday spirit....

“How did I ever let you talk me into this?” Clarke groused under her breath to Raven.  She ignored the HR staffer at the front of the room who was droning his way through the orientation session.  She shifted in the uncomfortable folding metal chair and tugged at her scratchy red-and-white striped tights. 

Raven shrugged impassively.  “You said you needed a job over Christmas, and this pays pretty well.”  Raven had worked at the massive Polis Department Store’s Santaland Village the previous Christmas season and had thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  Based on her wheedling and advice, Clarke had put in an application for the current season.  She was only now realizing a critical error.  Raven’s assignment was in “Santa’s Workshop,” designing and repairing animatronic reindeer and snowmen and making the toy trains run on time.  Clarke, however, would be an ordinary elf tasked with interacting with the public.  And Raven had failed to mention the suit.  

Clarke gritted her teeth.  “You didn’t tell me about the outfit,” she hissed. 

Raven, comfortable in her elf overalls, glanced at her and rolled her eyes smugly.  “Come on, Clarke, you _had_ to know you’d have to dress like an elf.”  She paused to take in Clarke’s costume: a belted, forest green tunic with a white, oversized collar that fell to mid-thigh over the striped tights.  Brown booties and a green elf hat trimmed in white completed the ensemble.  “Besides, it’s a good look on you,” she snickered.

“Hats with bells on them are not a good look for anyone,” Clarke replied with a withering look.

During their whispered banter, the HR drone finished his spiel and turned the floor over to the next speaker.  On seeing the newcomer, Raven sat up straighter in her seat and nudged Clarke.  “Shh.”

“Why are you shushing me?”

Raven jerked her head at the new speaker, “It’s the Commander.”

“What Commander?”

“Lexa Woods.  The head elf.  The Commander is her elf name,” Raven whispered out of the corner of her mouth. 

“ _Elf name_?” Clarke scoffed.  “Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

Raven winced and muttered, “Shit, now you’ve done it.” 

Clarke looked to the front of the room.  A young woman about her age had taken charge of the meeting.  Her matching elf costume suited her lithe frame.  Soft, honey-brown curls trickled from under her cap and flowed past her shoulders.  Clarke vaguely processed bold cheekbones and full lips, but the Commander’s eyes drew her attention.  The green of her tunic set off the forest hue of her eyes, which were presently boring into Clarke with an icy glare. 

 _Oh. Shit_. _She can totally wear the hat._

Lexa flicked an eyebrow at Clarke and let the silence build for a beat.  Clarke’s belly flipped at the subtle gesture and heat flared in her cheeks.  Seeing Clarke suitably chastened, Lexa began again.  “Now that I have everyone’s attention”—pointed emphasis on _everyone_ —“my name is Lexa Woods, I’ll be your immediate supervisor.  When we’re on the floor, we’re in character, so you should refer to me as the Commander.”  Clarke smirked and stifled an eyeroll.  “I’d like to go over a few ground rules and expectations.  Those of you who are old hands already know the drill; new hires should get up to speed quickly or you won’t be here long.”  She gave the room a long look to convey the weight of her warning.  “Our purpose is to provide the best possible Christmas experience.  For Polis”—her lips twisted a little wryly—“it’s obviously about getting customers in the store and increasing sales.  But for our visitors, it’s about far more than that.  For many—if not most—of our guests, visiting Santa is an integral aspect of the holiday season.  Parents are here to see joy on their children’s faces, to relive their own childhood and remember the excitement of the season.  And for the kids, it’s about the magic of it all.”  The ghost of a smile hovered, unbidden, at the corner of her lips.  Clarke smiled against her will at the passion in Lexa’s words. “It’s _Santa_.  Most of them still believe, and it’s up to us to make sure that the visit is as special as they’ve dreamed.  Your job is to create the atmosphere and smooth the logistics.  It’s not always easy—people are stressed this time of year, especially when we’re busy.  Part of my job is to give you backup and defuse these situations before they happen, so use your headsets.”

Lexa continued on with logistical details about the employee locker room and uniform cleaning and other matters, but Clarke increasingly tuned out her words.  She instead zeroed in on the plushness of Lexa’s full, pink lips and found herself idly wondering whether elves used peppermint lip gloss.  She snapped back to attention just as Lexa read off a list of names and assignments.  “Remember, stay in character as much as you can.  I’ll need your elf name by the end of shift today.”

Clarke couldn’t hold back her snicker. 

“You in the fourth row, do you have a problem with that?”  Lexa stared Clarke down, clearly over her low-key insubordination.

Clarke quailed inwardly under Lexa’s piercing gaze, but outwardly maintained her façade of aloof cool.  She jutted her chin at Lexa in a tiny show of defiance and replied, “No, no problem.  It just seems a little…excessive?”  Clarke’s challenge charged the air in the room, and several veteran elves gasped audibly at her insouciance in the face of the Commander.

Lexa narrowed her eyes and clasped her hands behind her back.  “What’s your name?”

Her deceptively silky tone undermined Clarke’s cockiness and she bit back a stutter.  “Clarke.  Griffin.  Clarke Griffin.”

“No, since you seem to think you’re above the rest of us, from now on your name is Princess,” Lexa fired back with a ring of steel in her voice.  To the rest of the room, she barked, “All right, that’s it.  Get to your posts.”

Clarke sat in speechless disbelief for a moment.  She looked at Raven, who, like the rest of the room, had followed the entire exchange with bated breath.  “Did she just—”  She broke off, too infuriated to articulate the thought.

Raven gave a low whistle.  “Damn, Clarke.  You’re on her shit list now.  You are so fucked.” 

The two of them stood to leave, but Lexa called after them.  “Not you, Princess.  A word, please.”

Raven laughed helplessly at Clarke and shook her head.  “ _So_ fucked,” she chortled under her breath as she left.

Clarke huffed and grudgingly walked up to Lexa.  Even though Lexa was only an inch or two taller, Clarke still had to look up to meet her eyes.  They were even more striking up close.  Clarke impatiently shook off the unsettling thought but she couldn’t so easily throw off the delicious squirm in her belly at Lexa’s unmistakable authority.  She clenched her jaw and gritted out, “You wanted to see me?”

Lexa moved closer, into Clarke’s personal space, her hands still clasped behind her back.  Clarke barely resisted sucking in a breath, but her nostrils flared with the effort.  Lexa leaned close to Clarke’s shoulder and said quietly, but bluntly, “Are we going to have a problem, Clarke?”

Lexa’s warm breath tickled her ear and Clarke hated herself for the involuntary tremble it provoked.  “No,” she muttered.

“Good,” Lexa continued.  “Because elves aren’t just the face of Christmas, we’re also the face of the company.  That means management has very little tolerance for insubordination or breaking the rules.  So get your shit together, or you’ll be gone.  It’s as simple as that.  I don’t make the rules, but I do have to enforce them,” she said meaningfully.  Clarke could only nod.  “And that means wearing your uniform properly.”  She held Clarke’s gaze as she raised her hands to Clarke’s tunic and, with careful fingers, deliberately buttoned the top two buttons that Clarke had left undone.  The warmth of her hands singed even through the fabric and Clarke fought to keep from breaking their heated staredown.  She masked her shaky intake of breath with a huff.  For her part, Lexa put up a stoic front, but through her own embarrassed fluster, Clarke took small satisfaction at Lexa’s faint swallow and the way her eyes dilated a fraction.  Perhaps she’d only imagined it though, because Lexa quickly regained her composure—if she’d even lost it at all—and gave Clarke a brusque clap on the shoulder.  “Get to work, Princess,” she said, and walked out of the room.  Clarke stood stock still, outraged, and utterly, irrationally, turned on. 

*********

When Lexa said the job wasn’t always easy, she really hadn’t been kidding.  If anything, that was an understatement.  With Thanksgiving in the rearview mirror, the Christmas frenzy kicked into high gear.  It really didn’t matter what assignment Clarke drew—cash register elf, photo elf, line elf, Santa’s elf—the script was virtually the same.  Excited, rambunctious children, some of them on the brink—or past the brink—of meltdowns.  Parents, some of them patient, but others frazzled, stressed, or downright rude.  And always, _always_ , the incessant Christmas music.  For the most part, Clarke didn’t mind the job.  The delight on the children’s faces—Clarke grudgingly admitted that Lexa had been right about the importance of fostering magic—and their sometimes bizarre gift requests (“I want Jessica to like me,” one small boy declared earnestly) usually made up for the ridiculous costume and the sore feet and the overbearing adults. 

But on especially busy days, Clarke was as human as the next elf.  It could be a struggle to keep her cool when confronted with a flood of customers upset by the hours-long line, boisterous and over-tired children, and a torrent of obvious or even asinine questions (because despite the saying, there _was_ such a thing as a stupid question).  And seemingly without fail, whenever she had a lapse, the Commander was right there to witness it.

Clarke’s face was a thundercloud when she met up with Raven outside the maintenance department.  They’d planned to do a little shopping themselves after work and then get dinner.  Raven took one look at Clarke’s scowl and said lightly, “Guess I don’t need to ask how _your_ day went.”

“Ugh!  I can’t _stand_ her, Rae!”  Clarke seethed.  She hadn’t noticed it herself, but her complaints about Lexa had become such a regular litany that she no longer needed to identify the ‘she’ in question.  Raven just looked at her with a bemused expression, as if she knew something Clarke didn’t.  “What?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

Raven smothered her smile and said, “No reason.  What happened?”

Clarke related the latest outrage on their way to the employee locker room to get changed.  “I was on line duty this afternoon and we were slammed—well, really, when are we _not_ slammed—and the wait was almost two hours and people get pissy when you tell them that.  So I’d been putting up with all kinds of grief for a couple of hours, the same stupid questions, over and over, that people could figure out themselves if they took half a second to _think_.  And by this point the end of the line was backed up near the restrooms—and they’re _marked_ with big fricking signs, Rae!” she insisted, as if Raven had dared to suggest otherwise.  “Anyway, this woman came up to me without even looking around and asked which was the line for the ladies’ room.  And I couldn’t help it, I sort of snapped and said, ‘Probably the one with all the women in it.’” 

Raven cracked up.  Clarke sighed.  “I know, it was stupid, I really didn’t mean to get sarcastic.  But _of course_ , who do you think was right behind me and heard the whole thing?  How is she always _right there_ every time I screw up?  I swear she’s got it in for me,” Clarke whined.

“Mm, she’s got something for you,” Raven muttered under her breath.

Clarke was too absorbed in her own rant to catch Raven’s remark.  “What?”

“Nothing,” Raven said hastily.  “So what happened?”

“Oh, she smoothed over things with the customer.  And then she says to me, ‘Princess’—I _hate_ that name!  And the _way_ she says it just makes me…ugh!  Anyway—‘Princess, since you’re the expert on the restroom facilities, how about you take care of the Dalmatian accident in housewares?’  And then she did that… _thing_ …with her chin and just strutted off.  It’s not funny, Rae!  She sent me to clean up puppy crap!”

Raven was laughing openly at Clarke’s characterization of the incident, though perhaps not for the reasons Clarke thought.  “What ‘thing’ with her chin are you talking about, Princess?” she asked through her giggles.

Clarke shot her an exasperated look.  “You know, the one where she gets that little tic and lifts her chin and gives you that extra-long look and you’d swear she can see right through you.”  Raven hummed noncommittally.

Clarke was still complaining over her shoulder as she pushed open the locker room door.  “I _hate_ her, Rae!”  She walked through the door and came to such an abrupt halt that Raven bumped into her back.  Her nemesis was in front of her locker changing out of her costume, and _holy shit_ , when did green velour become so attractive?  Lexa had her back to them and was in the process of peeling off her tights.  She had somehow gotten one leg tangled and was hopping awkwardly on one leg as she tried to free the other foot. 

Clarke inhaled sharply and realized she was gawking.  She cleared her throat as she entered the room and acknowledged Lexa.  “Commander.”

Lexa startled at her voice and whipped her head around.  The sudden movement threw her off balance and she crashed against the lockers with a loud bang.  “Clarke,” she gasped. 

Clarke smirked, secretly pleased to see the Commander discomfited, even if she still looked damn good with her tights halfway down her legs.  “Don’t you mean Princess?  I thought we were supposed to stay in character,” she said mockingly, trying to ignore the adorable way that Lexa’s jingle bell cap had slid sideways on her head. 

Lexa finally ripped her foot free with a muffled curse and gave the beastly tights a triumphant glare as she tossed them in her locker.  She clawed back her dignity and replied, “Only when we’re on the clock.  Unless you’d rather I call you Princess,” she added with a sly smile, cocking an eyebrow at Clarke for good measure.  She began to undo the buttons on her tunic. 

Clarke’s face colored and she quickly turned to face her own locker so she wouldn’t have to endure the exquisite torture of watching Lexa slowly unveil inch after inch of smooth, golden skin.  “Clarke is fine,” she muttered gruffly.  The tension hung thick and heavy between them as they undressed, back to back, in strained silence.  Clarke forced herself to concentrate on changing her clothes, adamantly refusing to think about Lexa stripping behind her, _definitely_ not contemplating what kind of underwear she had on and how she might look in black boy shorts…or perhaps something lacy and sheer…. _Fuck_.  Her fingers felt clumsy as she wrestled out of her own uniform and into her street clothes, more self-conscious than usual of her own body.  Her curiosity burned, but she willed herself not to turn her head to see whether Lexa was sneaking a peek. 

The slam of a locker sliced through Clarke’s fog.  “Right, well then.  You two have a good night,” Lexa said awkwardly.

“You too, Commander,” Raven replied easily. 

“See you tomorrow, Clarke,” Lexa said, almost hesitantly.  Clarke, uncharacteristically tongue-tied, only managed a curt nod in her direction.  When the door swung shut behind her, Clarke deflated and let her head thunk forward against the lockers with a groan.

Raven grinned and elbowed her in the side.  “I thought you hated her?” she teased.

Clarke’s face burned.  She squeezed her eyes shut in a futile effort at warding off gold-flecked green eyes and full lips curved in a seductive smile.  “Shut up, Raven,” she mumbled.

*********

Clarke was a terrible elf.  Lexa conceded that some of her mistakes were unintentional—directing visitors to the wrong line by accident, or quoting incorrect Santa break times.  But her attitude walked a fine line between impishly cheeky and flat-out sarcastic.  Lexa didn’t mean to give Clarke a hard time, she really didn’t, but somehow she couldn’t help but gravitate to Clarke’s section when she was on duty.  She told herself it was to rein her in and prevent her from outraging guests with her sass, and that the tingle of heat that Clarke’s lazy smile stirred in her belly had absolutely no bearing.  If she was being truly honest, she secretly admired Clarke’s unwillingness to accept demeaning remarks or being treated as ‘the help.’  She grinned reflexively upon recalling Clarke’s reaction to the too-cool-for-school teenager who’d made a snide remark to her face about Clarke and the other elves looking stupid.  “At least I get paid to look stupid, you’re giving it away for free,” Clarke had fired back.  Lexa had put on a show of scolding and threatened to write Clarke up that time.  The twitch of her own lips as she did so betrayed her, though, and from Clarke’s impudent flash of blue, she knew Lexa’s true thoughts full well.   

And in fact, even though Lexa knew she was probably being unfairly harder on Clarke than some of the other elves, Clarke seemed to invite rebuke.  Sometimes Lexa would’ve sworn her gaffes were intentional: conveniently “forgetting” her cap, wearing solid tights instead of regulation striped, cracking ribald reindeer jokes within earshot of visitors.  It was almost as if she was purposely drawing Lexa’s attention, playfully needling her to see what it would take to get a true rise out of her. 

 _Niylah_ , Lexa admitted ruefully.  Niylah had finally cracked her carefully-schooled composure regarding Clarke.  She’d been walking the floor the day before, checking in with all of her teams.  As she approached the main elevator bank, she spotted Clarke (and she definitely hadn’t made an extra pass by the elevators because Clarke was assigned to elevator duty) chatting with another elf.  Not just any elf, but Niylah (elf name Cupcake).  Lexa’s jaw tightened and she unconsciously clenched her fist.  She liked Niylah perfectly well, she was a good elf and a sweet person, but she was also a notorious flirt who tried it on with all of her colleagues to see what might stick. 

Sure enough, as Lexa neared, Niylah leaned in and rested a hand on Clarke’s arm said something that made her laugh (and Lexa was _not_ eyeing the smooth column of Clarke’s neck as she threw her head back).  Niylah let her hand linger on Clarke’s arm, giving her a delicate caress that _just_ crossed the friend line.  She leaned closer and murmured something to Clarke, clearly flirtatious, if Clarke’s pink cheeks were any indication.  Just as Clarke was about to reply, she noticed Lexa drawing near and her entire demeanor changed.  Her eyes seemed to grow impossibly bluer, and a little smirk lurked on her lips.  She mimicked Niylah’s body language, but her eyes darted to Lexa’s and held them as she whispered something back that made Niylah smile and fractured Lexa’s resolute demeanor.  _Is she flirting back?_  

“Niylah,” Lexa said briskly.

“Don’t you mean Cupcake, _Commander_?” Clarke interrupted with a smug grin. 

Lexa’s face colored, aghast with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.  Everyone knew she never broke character.  She brushed off the slip-up with aplomb, knowing all too well that the gossip would spread through the elf grapevine within a matter of minutes.  “ _Cupcake_ ,” she corrected herself, continuing with a frown and an unusually biting tone, “shift started eight minutes ago, and I had you down for gift wrap elf today, not elevator duty.  Christmas Eve is next week, and we’re too busy to have elves shirking assignments.  Stop screwing around before I change my mind and write you up,” she snapped, cringing to herself at the ashen look on Niylah’s face even as the words left her mouth.  Lexa turned on her heel and stalked away, deeply unsettled by her reaction to the possibility of Clarke chatting up another woman— _really, Lexa, jealousy?_ —as well as by her own unreasonable treatment of Niylah.  She knew it was poor leadership—the wide-eyed trepidation she garnered from other elves for the rest of the day drove that point home—and she made a point to track Niylah down later and apologize.  She would have felt better about the whole episode if Niylah had given her the cold shoulder, but Niylah’s understanding smile simply underscored her own internal flailing.  

So Clarke was a terrible elf.  Except she wasn’t, not really.  Sure, she could be irreverent and she frequently mocked the overcommercialization of the season.  But Lexa had inadvertently seen a side of Clarke that belied her outward flippant demeanor, a side that Lexa suspected was far more representative of Clarke’s true feelings.  Lexa had been wrangling a shipment of gift wrap during the late afternoon crush when Clarke’s voice crackled on the headset. 

“Got a lost kid on the third floor, about four years old, Batman sweatshirt and jeans.”

Lexa keyed her mic.  “I’m on my way.  Keep him with you.”  The elevators were crowded and it took her a few minutes to make her way to them.  She had to crane her head for a moment before she spied Clarke near a out-of-service register.  She was sitting crosslegged on the floor next to a small boy, who was talking to her animatedly.  Lexa heaved a relieved sigh and walked over.  Her steps slowed and then stopped as she came up behind them and picked up the thread of their conversation. 

“I told Santa I wanted a bike, but I _don’t_ ,” the boy declared adamantly.  “So I had to go back and tell him.”

Clarke leaned in and said with a conspiratorial smile, “He’s _Santa_.  I’m sure he already knows what you _really_ want.”  The boy relaxed and nodded vigorous agreement.  “But how come you didn’t ask for what you wanted?” she asked curiously.

His eyes shone with innocence.  “Cause Daddy gets really sad when I ask.  He said Mommy got really sick and had to go away.  I want Santa to make her better so she can come home and me and Daddy will be happy again.”

Lexa’s own heart seized with a sudden pang, and she saw Clarke briefly close her eyes before she replied, a slight quaver in her voice.  “Buddy, sometimes people get so sick that _not even Santa_ can make them better.”  Seeing his distress start to build, she added quickly, “But I bet she knows how much you miss her, and I bet Santa could give her a message from you.”  She scrabbled through the shelves beneath the counter and produced some printer paper and a couple of pens.  “Can you draw me a picture of what you want to tell your mom?  And I’ll make sure Santa gets it so he can pass it on.  Here, I’ll draw with you.” 

The child agreed and he and Clarke set to work.  Lexa updated their location to management over the headset, but otherwise she didn’t interrupt.  Clarke heard Lexa’s voice over the radio and her head swiveled to locate her.  Lexa noted the watery shimmer in her eyes and gave her a tiny smile of encouragement.  Clarke returned it with a faint smile of gratitude that warmed Lexa all over.  She watched the pair wordlessly, letting the hubbub around her recede, leaving a calm stillness in its wake.  It seemed like an age passed while she observed them, but it was only minutes before the frantic father rushed up to reunite with his child.  Tears, hugs, and fervent thank yous later, Clarke and Lexa stood in companionable silence as father and son took their leave.

“That was really sweet, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly, looking at Clarke with sincere appreciation.  She didn’t push further.

Clarke nodded briefly.  “Sometimes it helps to feel like you can still talk to them, especially at Christmas.”  She flashed Lexa a fleeting, sad smile before her eyes slid away.

*********

Clarke couldn’t stand Lexa.  Really, she couldn’t.  Almost every time she turned around, Lexa was _there,_ on her case, correcting her elf etiquette, or soothing the feathers she’d ruffled with her impertinent snark.  She should hate it.  Except she didn’t.  Lexa’s reprimands lacked the edge they’d had at the beginning, and she’d come to realize that being an elf—and head elf, at that—meant far more to Lexa than just a paycheck.  Clarke saw her mellow glow and wistful smile at the children’s requests when she thought no one was looking.  Lexa was a demanding leader, but she took care of her people, even laying her own position on the line in protest when a skeezy assistant manager tried to grope one of her elves in the stockroom.  And Clarke was not unaware of the subtle glances Lexa stole of her; if anything, quite the opposite—she had never before felt so _aware_ of someone else’s presence. 

The Commander’s steely persona left Clarke’s body restless, her costume itchy and chafing deliciously against her skin, but more and more she found herself wanting to learn _Lexa_ , the woman whose gentle smiles and earnest whispers calmed children terrified of Santa.  Clarke began deliberately making small mistakes just to get Lexa’s attention in the hope of drawing her out.  Lexa was a tough nut to crack, though, and Clarke grew increasingly frustrated at her inability to break through her shell.  She’d seen her slip for a brief moment when Niylah hit on her, but Lexa seemed to put her walls back up even stronger afterward.

There were only a few days left until Christmas, and somehow the last-minute visitors were more demanding than ever.  Clarke was stationed near the window into Santa’s Workshop, where guests could peer in and catch their first tantalizing view of the jolly fat man in red.  Except that today, the fat man was neither fat, jolly, nor, for that matter, a man.  Anya, a woman whose penchant for sarcasm rivaled only the Commander’s herself, was taking her turn in the rotation.  A strangled, outraged huff made Clarke look toward the window.  She mentally cursed when she accidentally made eye contact with a clearly well-heeled couple with two poorly-behaved grade schoolers in tow.  The mother marched over to Clarke, oozing self-importance.  “Excuse me,” she said, leaning in to speak to Clarke in a patronizing voice.  “We’d like a _traditional_ Santa.  _If_ you know what I mean,” she added, wrinkling her nose at Anya. 

Clarke had already had a long day of headaches, but this one took the cake.  “No, I’m afraid I _don’t_ know what you mean,” she said evenly. 

“Yes, yes,” the woman said impatiently.  “I’m sure it’s company policy that you have to say that, but _you_ know—a _real_ Santa.”

The vein in Clarke’s temple throbbed and her filter began to slip.  “Considering that Santa is a fictional construct to begin with, she looks real enough to me,” she said with an edge.  “But did you mean a _male_ Santa?  Or maybe a _white_ Santa?  Or, come to think of it, why are you asking _me_ anyway?  Because I’m blonde and blue-eyed?”  Her voice rose and so did the color in her cheeks and the outrage in her eyes. 

Just as she was about to rip the woman a new one, a strong arm wrapped around her chest and pulled her back and a sharp voice cut through her anger.  “Princess!  _Clarke_!”  It was the Commander.  “Stand down, I’ll handle this.”  Her tone and body language brooked no argument, but Clarke was too overwrought to heed her warning.

“Commander, these assholes—”

Lexa drew to her full height and spoke over her with a roar, hands on her hips and eyes blazing.  “Griffin, get off my floor _right now_!”

Clarke was so angry she couldn’t even speak.  She whirled and stormed off to the locker room.  She paced the floor, hands clenched, unable to determine who she was more furious with, the bigots or Lexa.  Right on cue, Lexa pushed the door open with a bang and strode in.  “Dammit, Clarke,” she snapped, clearly hanging onto the vestiges of her own self-control by a thread, “you _cannot_ insult the customers.  A stunt like that will get you fired!” 

Clarke saw red.  “Are you fucking serious right now?” she snarled.  “Anya is your _friend_ , and those assholes are a couple of fucking bigots, and _I’m_ in trouble for insulting _them_?”  She gave a short, bitter laugh.  “And here I thought there was an actual person under that whole ‘Commander’ bullshit.  What kind of fucking robot _are_ you?” 

Lexa lost her temper.  She punched one of the lockers, hard, so worked up she hardly felt the pain.  “God _damn_ it, _yes_!  It upsets me!” she shouted, edging into Clarke’s space.  “I know why you’re pissed, I am, too!  I’d throw them out of the store if I could.  But I have to protect my people, and I can’t do that if I get fired because of some assholes who aren’t going to change their minds anyway.  And it’s not really about them—it’s not fair to punish the kids because the parents are jerks.”  Lexa’s sudden burst of anger flared out, but she was standing very close to Clarke, still emotionally charged, cheeks pink, and eyes greener than Clarke had ever seen them.  “This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last.  I need you to trust me,” she said earnestly.  Her eyes dipped to Clarke’s mouth and her voice dropped an octave.  “Do you trust me, Clarke?”

Clarke swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.  Lexa was so close her body heat radiated into Clarke’s space and she could smell the light, sweet scent of her hair.  Her own eyes focused on Lexa’s lips, and she whispered back, “Yes.  I trust you.”  She wasn’t sure which of them surged forward first, but their lips collided in a messy mélange of sliding tongues and feverish wanting and hands tangled in hair.  Lexa crowded Clarke backward against the lockers with a bang and she groaned into Lexa’s mouth at the sensation of hard, cold metal at her back and warm, lush curves pressed into her front.  Clarke tugged Lexa in tighter and angled her mouth to deepen the kiss, her tongue skating across the roof of Lexa’s mouth and swirling against Lexa’s own. 

Just as Lexa’s hands began to drift lower, the door swung open and Lexa and Clarke leaped apart as several other elves came in.  They stood in awkwardly charged silence, not looking at each other, regaining their equilibrium, until the interlopers clanged their lockers shut and left. 

“Lexa—” Clarke began in a shaky breath.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” Lexa cut her off with a distressed whisper. 

Clarke read the mixture of longing and regret written on Lexa’s face.  She took Lexa’s arm.  “Don’t be.  I’m not,” she said simply, her fingers gently stroking the delicate ridge of Lexa’s wrist and sliding down to clasp her hand. 

Lexa’s eyes darted everywhere except to Clarke’s.  “When you got in that woman’s face, all I could think was that you’d get fired and I wouldn’t see you anymore and I couldn’t bear that.”  She swallowed and continued hoarsely, “But I’m your boss, Clarke, we can’t—”

Clarke squeezed her hand to shush her.  “Not yet,” she replied meaningfully.  Lexa finally met her eye and nodded, releasing a slow breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding.  “What did you do about those assholes, anyway?” Clarke asked curiously.

Lexa straightened her shoulders and Clarke saw the Commander reemerge in her sly grin.  “Oh, I told them we’d have a male Santa—with a _real beard_ —on duty in a couple of hours if they’d care to wait.”

Clarke arched a quizzical eyebrow at her.  “But Gustus—”

Lexa’s grin widened.  “I may have neglected to mention the facial tattoos.”  

*********

The whole season had been building to Christmas Eve, and it was a doozy of a day.  The flood of visitors had slowed, but Santaland was still busy.  Santa’s imminent arrival amped up some of the kids beyond control, as Clarke learned to her chagrin.  Just as she bent to lift one little girl onto Santa’s lap, the over-anxious child loosed a torrent of vomit all down the front of Clarke’s suit.  She barely held back a curse in the moment, but once safely in the locker room, she let them fly with abandon, particularly upon learning that all the surplus elf costumes had already been sent to end-of-season storage.  All that she could find was one of the deep red velour female elf costumes trimmed in faux white fur that had been retired several years ago when the store switched to unisex elf outfits—for good reason, Clarke thought cynically.  It was slightly too small, but Clarke made it work and headed back out to the floor.

Clarke was on her way back to her station when she crossed paths with Lexa.  As much as Lexa had been all up in her business when she started the job, since the kiss she’d been going to scrupulous lengths to avoid her.  On seeing her, Lexa skidded to a halt and gaped.  “Commander,” Clarke said solemnly, the sparkle in her eyes belying her serious tone. 

“ _Clarke_!  I mean, Princess…what…what the hell…is _that_?” Lexa stammered.  She gestured in Clarke’s general direction, but her eyes had landed somewhere south of Clarke’s face.  The red bodice accentuated Clarke’s generous curves far more than the green tunic had, and the skirt edged halfway up her thighs, but it was the low-cut neckline trimmed in white fur that had rendered Lexa speechless.  It fit just a shade too tight: Clarke’s cleavage was on full display and her breasts threatened to spill free. 

Clarke smirked mischievously and gave a little twirl.  “What do you think?”

Lexa’s jaw worked and she balled her hands into fists to keep herself from reaching out to touch.  “You can’t wear that on the floor,” she hissed insistently.  The tips of her ears reddened beneath her cap.   “It’s…it’s….”   

“…all I could find,” Clarke finished matter-of-factly, a teasing glint in her eye.  “So you’ll just have to deal with it, _Commander_.”  She pivoted and sashayed away with a little extra swing in her hips.  Lexa didn’t even pretend she wasn’t watching her walk away. 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully.  The clock finally struck seven, the last of the shoppers cleared out, and the elves cheered the passing of yet another holiday season.  Staffers cleared out quickly, eager to brave the cold to get home to friends and family on this special night.  Clarke loitered and dragged her feet, hoping to bump into Lexa again before she left, but she seemed to have vanished.  Her shoulders slumped with disappointment, and she made a final pass through Santaland on her way to the locker room.  Maintenance had already cut the overhead lights, but the fairy lights in the village still cast a warm, ambient glow, and Clarke noticed movement in the low light.  “Hello?  Who’s there?” she called out, edging cautiously toward Santa’s sleigh. 

A head popped up from the back of the sleigh.  “Clarke?”

 _Lexa_.  Butterflies surged to life in Clarke’s belly.  She forced her feet to work and stepped closer to the sleigh to find the Commander kicked back on the bench seat, long, lean legs propped up over the side, a flask in her hand.  “Lexa?” Clarke questioned.  “What are you still doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Lexa waved the flask airily.  “Toasting the end of another season.”

Clarke giggled.  “Are you drunk?”

Lexa shook her head dismissively.  “Pssht.  No.  Just a little loose.”  Clarke’s pulse sped up at the warmth behind her eyes.  “You’re welcome to join me, but you probably have places to be.”  A flicker of melancholy dimmed her smile a degree.

Clarke hopped into the sleigh and dropped onto the seat beside Lexa.  “Nope,” she said simply.  Lexa’s face lit up with a brilliant grin and she wordlessly passed the flask.  They sat quietly for a long while, nipping at the whiskey and enjoying its pleasant warmth and the calm that had settled over Santaland. 

Lexa broke the silence.  “This is the best part of Christmas for me,” she said dreamily.  “Not the chaos and frenzy and gifts.  It’s so peaceful, I can imagine that Santa is real and magic really exists.” 

Clarke caught the wistful note in her voice.  “Is that why you’re still here after hours on Christmas Eve when everyone else has left?”  she asked gently. 

 “Maybe,” Lexa answered with a small, sad smile.  “Maybe it’s just that I have nowhere else to go,” she murmured so softly that Clarke almost didn’t hear her.  Clarke raised a questioning eyebrow, and she said simply, “I grew up in the system.  No family, not that many friends, and they all have families of their own….Better to spend Christmas Eve here, at least a little longer—” nodding her head to indicate Santaland “—than to head home to a cold, empty apartment.”  She noticed the wet shimmer in Clarke’s eyes and she insisted quickly, “Don’t feel bad for me, Clarke, it’s fine, really, I’m used to it.  It’s just nice to enjoy the pretense sometimes.”  She gave a little awkward laugh.  “Anyway, I thought you’d have plans with Raven.  What are _you_ still doing here so late?”

Clarke swiped a stray tear from her cheek and replied with a bittersweet smile of her own.  “Partly the same reason as you—nowhere else to go.  Oh, sometimes I spend the holidays with Raven, but she’s spending time with her girlfriend tonight, so….”  Her voice trailed off a little.  “My dad died at Christmas, six years ago, and it hasn’t been the same since.  I _want_ to get in the Christmas mood, but somehow I just can’t feel it.  Being here…it helps me feel, I dunno, less _empty_.”  She glanced over at Lexa and saw understanding reflected on her face.  The silence stretched for a few moments, until Clarke cleared her throat and said in a more conversational tone, “But that’s not the main reason I stuck around tonight.”  She laughed at Lexa’s questioning eyebrow and gently bumped shoulders with her.  “I was looking for you, dummy.”

Lexa’s lips curved in a very different kind of smile.  She shifted closer to Clarke on the seat.  “Were you, now?”  She propped an elbow on the back of the sleigh and let her fingers toy idly with the golden curls streaming from beneath Clarke’s slightly askew elf cap.

“Mmhmm.”  Clarke angled sideways to face her.  “I never got my turn to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas,” she said coyly, pulse notching upward as she met Lexa’s smoldering gaze.  She rose up on one knee and slowly, carefully, swung her other leg to straddle Lexa’s lap.  She draped her hands behind Lexa’s neck and lowered herself to settle against Lexa, savoring Lexa’s erratic breathing and the firm pressure of her body in just the right places.  “But you’re Santa’s _head elf_ ,” Clarke emphasized huskily, her breath warm against Lexa’s neck, “so maybe you could put in a word for me.”

Lexa’s hands landed automatically at Clarke’s waist to hold her in place.  Her fingers clutched at Clarke’s hips and she groaned softly as Clarke’s hot mouth layered a line of wet kisses up her neck, over the hinge of her jaw, finally nibbling at the corner of her mouth and tracing Lexa’s lower lip with her tongue.  Lexa kissed Clarke back hungrily, eagerly parting her lips for her and moaning at the heavy glide of Clarke’s tongue against hers.  Lexa lost herself in the kiss, her hands unconsciously stroking gentle circles over the crushed velour at Clarke’s ass. 

They finally broke with a gasp, chests heaving and gulping great lungsful of air.  Lexa’s hands slowly crept up Clarke’s sides, their teasing weight making Clarke shiver.  She nosed kisses down Clarke’s neck, pausing to feel Clarke’s wildly fluttering pulse, before descending lower to the pale expanse of Clarke’s cleavage.  “I have questions, Clarke,” Lexa murmured as her lips grazed wetly over the swell of her breasts.  She looked up to catch Clarke’s eye, her own pupils black as midnight and reflecting the fairy lights.  “I have to ask,” she whispered silkily.  “Have you been naughty or nice?”

Clarke grinned wickedly.  “Ask me again in the morning.”  She gave a throaty sigh as Lexa’s palms rose to cup her breasts over her costume. 

Lexa’s lips suddenly stilled.  “Clarke, I’m still your boss,” she said regretfully.

Clarke shrugged nonchalantly.  “I quit.”  She wove her fingers through the soft mass of Lexa’s unruly curls and urged her mouth back against her chest, the creamy flesh now flushed with arousal. 

Lexa obliged for an instant, only to pause again.  “You’re still wearing company property,” she reminded in between tantalizing kisses.   

“Please do something about that,” Clarke whined plaintively, ducking her head to capture Lexa’s lips in another searing kiss.  She felt Lexa smiling into her mouth and moments later she loosed a tiny grunt of relief as Lexa unzipped her and released her breasts from their tight confinement.  She dragged the costume down until it bunched at Clarke’s waist, stripping away her bra in the process, letting the pads of her fingers and then her mouth wander over her breasts. 

“Your boobs are amazing,” Lexa murmured appreciatively.  She circled first one nipple, then the other, with the rough of her tongue, teasing the delicate flesh into stiff peaks and relishing the tang of sweat on Clarke’s skin and the greedy whimpers that her touch produced.  By now, Clarke’s hips were bucking restlessly against Lexa in a desperate quest for friction, some kind of relief for the aching heat building between her legs.  Lexa’s hands fell to Clarke’s thighs to steady her, then inched the hem of her skirt higher.  Her palms skated up the inside of Clarke’s thighs, thumbs stroking gently as she neared the growing heat at the apex of her legs. 

Clarke groaned and drew Lexa in for a sloppy, dirty kiss.  She keened into her mouth as Lexa’s fingers danced near her panty line.  Lexa pulled back just a fraction and whispered meaningfully, “Is this ok?”

“God, yes,” Clarke babbled, grinding her crotch against Lexa eagerly.  She stared at Lexa with eyes gone black but for a sliver of blue around the edge and licked her lips.  “It would be better without the tights, though,” she blurted.

Lexa smirked at her smugly.  “Also company property.”  Clarke rolled her eyes and swatted at her, but Lexa just laughed and chased her lips for another kiss.  As they sighed into each other again, Lexa helped Clarke wrestle out of her tights, and this time when her hands edged Clarke’s skirt higher, they met only smooth, heated muscle all the way up.  Lexa cupped Clarke’s ass over her panties with both hands and let her fingers brush over the soaked fabric at her core without applying any real pressure.  “Is this ok?” she asked again in a ragged voice, needing to hear Clarke say it. 

Clarke ground against her urgently and panted, “Yes, _fuck._ Touch me, please,” her voice cracking.

Lexa wasted no more time, but pushed Clarke’s panties aside and kissed her deeply as her fingers slipped into Clarke’s slippery heat.  She traced patterns over her delicate flesh, parting her folds and slicking through her.  She nudged gently around her sensitive little nub, just enough to make Clarke curse and ratchet her arousal higher, but not enough to grant Clarke what she craved.  They both groaned when Lexa finally dipped inside, first with one finger, then quickly adding a second.   She thrust slowly at first, savoring the intimate sensation of Clarke’s liquid heat stretching around her fingers.  She soon quickened her pace, pumping hard and fast in sync with Clarke’s frantic downward grinds, crooking her fingers just so to graze against her inner wall.  A flood of wetness built between her own thighs at the sight of Clarke’s breasts bouncing above her bunched up dress, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration and the tip of her tongue sticking out as she rode Lexa’s fingers, the wet squelch and suck of her arousal audible with each thrust.  Clarke’s hips bucked desperately and Lexa adjusted the angle so that her palm rubbed over her clit with each stroke.  A few more thrusts and Clarke went rigid in Lexa’s arms with a shout, hips still pulsing, but muscles locked and the tendons in her neck straining. 

Lexa held her steady and coaxed her through her climax.  Her fingers gradually slowed and she finally eased out altogether and tucked Clarke’s panties back into place.  She slumped against the back of the sleigh and hugged a boneless Clarke to her chest, holding her close, dropping tiny kisses across her bare shoulders and cheeks, and smoothing sweat away from her temple. 

It took Clarke a few minutes to regain her bearings.  “ _Fuck_ , Lexa.” She lifted her head to meet Lexa’s face, still a little discombobulated.  She rested her forehead against Lexa’s and gazed at her with unfocused blue, still catching her breath.  “I swear, you _destroyed_ me.”

Lexa beamed at her with satisfaction.  “Mm, I like wrecking you.”  She kissed Clarke soundly, enjoying the languid, relaxed slide of Clarke’s lips on hers.  She broke the kiss suddenly with a hiss though, when Clarke took her hand to thread their fingers together. 

Clarke’s forehead furrowed in realization and she sat back a bit.  “Shit, you punched the lockers with that hand!  Are you ok?”

Lexa’s lips twisted in a slight grimace.  She’d been too caught up in the moment to pay much attention, but now…. “Hurts,” she said succinctly.  Clarke’s eyes clouded with worry and, to Lexa’s concern, regret.  She hastened to reassure her before Clarke overthought the situation.  “Hey, no, Clarke—it’s fine.  A little sore, but….”  Her lips twitched mischievously and she gave Clarke a suggestive leer.  “I’ll gladly take a little soreness if I get to make _you_ sore.”   

Clarke’s cheeks colored and she rolled her eyes.  “You’re terrible.”

“Really?”  Lexa nuzzled against Clarke’s neck.  “That’s not what you said a minute ago.  You know, once you could talk.” 

Clarke felt her smirk against her skin and she resolved to wipe it off.    She sat back on her haunches and regarded Lexa with feigned outrage.  “How the hell am I half naked and you still have all your clothes on?”  Lexa merely shrugged and gave her the same sexy, smug smirk that Clarke was quickly becoming accustomed to.  “Hmph,” Clarke huffed.  She rose up on her knees and shimmied out of her rumpled elf costume, leaving her clad only in her black panties.  Some of Lexa’s smugness evaporated at seeing Clarke so exposed and she reached for her, but Clarke pushed her back against the sleigh with a thump.

“I don’t want you to hurt your hand,” Clarke tutted in a saccharine tone, a touch of sincerity beneath her sass.  She cocked an eyebrow at Lexa and said, “The least I can do is kiss and make it better.  In fact, better yet….”   She gave Lexa a sultry onceover and settled her weight back on Lexa’s lap.  “As much as I’ve come to appreciate green velour on you, this outfit has got to go.”  She leaned forward and connected their lips again in a slow, deep kiss as she carefully worked the buttons on Lexa’s tunic.  

Lexa’s hands rose up to touch her, but Clarke caught them by the wrists and gently warded her off.  “No touching,” she husked with a warning glint.  Lexa’s eyes widened and she nodded.  Clarke bent back to her task, slowly inching Lexa’s tunic open and mouthing her way over each new swath of smooth skin.  She eased the garment off Lexa’s shoulders and unhooked her bra.  Her boobs, smaller than Clarke’s, pouted proudly under Clarke’s gaze, their rosy tips puckering in the cooler air and stiffening further beneath the heat of Clarke’s swirling tongue.  Lexa groaned and her breaths grew ragged under Clarke’s skilled mouth, but she heeded Clarke’s direction and kept her white-knuckled hands to herself. 

Clarke hummed her pleasure against Lexa’s skin.  She shifted up and off of Lexa’s lap, only to nudge Lexa’s thighs apart and lower herself to her knees between them.  She shucked off Lexa’s booties and then ran her hands up the length of Lexa’s sleek legs to her waist.  She plucked at the band of Lexa’s tights and underwear and looked up at Lexa through her lashes.  She arched an eyebrow in question.  “Can I?”

Lexa inhaled sharply through her nose and nodded vigorously, already raising her hips to lend assistance.  Clarke smirked.  “Someone’s eager,” she teased.  Lexa blushed, but in truth, Clarke was just as eager, because she wasted no time in peeling away Lexa’s tights, taking her underwear with them.  She giggled and razzed her at the sight of them.  “Red reindeer panties, Lexa?  Really?  Boy, you _really_ stay in character.”

Lexa reddened further.  “It’s not like I expected anyone else to _see_ them,” she grumbled defensively.

Clarke’s own face flushed at the sight of Lexa laid bare, the small patch of hair covering her mound and her rosy center, shiny with desire, welcoming, and so, so beautiful.  She bent her head to Lexa’s knee and kissed her inner thigh, slowly working her way higher.  “Shh.  They’re adorable.”  _Kiss_.  “And sexy.”  _Kiss._   “Just like you.”  She breathed deeply, relishing the musky scent of Lexa’s arousal.  Clarke felt Lexa tremble with need as she kissed the crease of her thigh and she looked up her body with no hint of mockery, only want and caring writ on her face.  “You can touch now,” she whispered hoarsely, starting to remove her elf hat and replace it with Lexa’s hand.

“Wait!”  Lexa blurted abruptly.  Her eyes, bright with anticipation, locked on Clarke’s and she stammered, “Um…leave it on.”   

A cheeky grin split Clarke’s face.  “Yes, _Commander_.” 

Lexa might have felt embarrassed if she’d had a moment to think, but then Clarke’s mouth was on her and all thought was gone.  Her head fell against the back of the sleigh and she arched into Clarke’s mouth, her own flying open in a silent cry.  Her hand sank into Clarke’s hair and she held on for dear life because _holy shit_ , Clarke’s _tongue_.  Clarke’s hands were solid and warm against her thighs.  She gently spread Lexa open with her thumbs and licked into her with gusto, thrusting inside and dragging her tongue along her inside wall.  All too soon, Lexa felt herself approaching the brink and she whined in protest, not wanting to come so quickly, even as her hips traitorously jogged in time with Clarke’s rhythm.  She pushed gently at Clarke’s head. 

Clarke glanced up at her and seemed to understand, because she eased back and let Lexa settle before working her up again, more slowly this time.  She patiently lapped and kissed her way through Lexa, loosing a contented hum at the taste of her that made Lexa gasp and tighten her grip.  She took her time without being a tease, sloughing over and through her folds and varying her pressure to find the spots that made Lexa whimper.  She circled and flicked her tongue over Lexa’s clit, softly at first, then with a firmer touch.  She judged from Lexa’s muted curses and rutting hips that she was close again and ready to break this time.  She stepped up her pace and sucked lightly on Lexa’s clit, and in a matter of moments Lexa seized against her with an incoherent, guttural groan.  Clarke gripped her quivering thighs with firm hands and kept her close, tonguing her through her aftershocks until Lexa shoved at her head, unable to get out her words.    

Clarke sat back on her heels and swiped away some of Lexa’s wetness from her face with the back of her hand.  She looked up at Lexa and swelled with pride at her wide-splayed legs, heaving chest, bruised, kiss-swollen lips, and the thoroughly-fucked expression on her face.  She crawled up Lexa’s body to take a seat on the bench next to her.  Without conscious thought, Lexa wrapped an arm around her and tucked her close, their sweat-slicked bodies slip-sliding against each other. 

“All better now?” Clarke cooed, a laugh lurking in her voice. 

“Huh?” Lexa grunted in dazed confusion.  “Great.  Perfect.  Never better,” she mumbled, smiling broadly at Clarke.  She kissed her deeply, closing her eyes at the taste of herself on Clarke’s lips.  They cuddled together quietly in the back of the sleigh, naked or nearly so, oblivious to their surroundings. 

“Merry Christmas, Lexa.”

“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

**A few moments later.**

“Hey Lexa?”

“Yes, Clarke?”

“They say Christmas only comes once a year.  Wanna prove them wrong?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to David Sedaris (Santaland Diaries) for the ladies' restroom line and the "You look stupid" line.


End file.
